“S***!” Melanie let out a yelp as she slammed her elbow into the corner of her nightstand. She fumbled with the zipper on her backpack after trying to cram her textbooks into it as quickly as possible, afraid she was going to miss the beginning of class. Throwing it over her shoulder, she made sure not to slam the door, for fear of waking up Sleeping Beauty from her slumber. Of course, darling Elsie would never complain, but Mel could deal without her sweetly disguised passive aggressive comments for the next few days.

Partway through class, after she had endured a solid 57 minutes of Professor Dillon’s enthralling lecture on “The Highly Debated Presence of Bias in the Media”, she rested her elbows on the desk in front of her and felt a sharp stab. Turning her arm over, she discovered a deep purple bruise that was covering the entire area around her elbow. She gently touched it and winced at the pain.

Why had this been happening so much? She glanced down at her left leg, where her jeans covered the large, unexplained, firework-shaped bruise she’d discovered last week, which had finally begun fading to a pale, green color. She had never noticed this many bruises until recently, and she didn’t even know where they’d come from…

Mel pushed the thought as far into the back of her mind as she possibly could. 5% chance, remember? she reminded herself, forcing her lips into a tight smile. Pulling out a sheet of paper from her notebook, she began trying to take notes on the professor’s --- in an attempt to take her mind off everything that was racing through it.

* * *

Later that week, Mel sat under the shade of her favorite tree, humming softly along to her music. The trees had begun turning green, a stark contrast against the red brick buildings surrounding the peaceful common. Books were spread around her as she trudged through her seemingly endless amount of homework. She jumped when her phone rang loudly, startling her in the middle of her train of thought.

“Hi, is this Melanie Van Dyke? … Yes, this is Dr. Flaherty from Eastmont Medical. I’m calling about the results from your routine CBC blood test at your physical last week. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Ye—yes?” Melanie had to swallow before she could force a response out of her mouth.

“Well, the test showed some unexpected results, so we sent the sample for some additional testing.” The muscles on her forehead tightened as the space between her eyebrows became smaller. The doctor continued, “We found an extremely high level of white blood cells and a very low amount of red bloods cells, and when we sent the sample for further testing, we discovered that you also have an abnormally high number of lymphocytes.”

“Uhm, so what exactly does this mean?” she asked, even though, in the pit of her stomach, she had no doubt of the answer that was coming.

“I’m so sorry to tell you this, Melanie, but the leukemia has come back.”

After those words, the rest of the conversation was a blur. Every time she tried to remember it, vague memories drifted in and out, but it was mostly a hazy fog.

“We anticipate that this will continue progressing extremely quickly, which is why it’s critical for you to come in as soon as possible to discuss your treatment plan...” By this point, the doctor had begun just giving a soliloquy.

“Miss Van Dyke?”

“Sorry?’

“Would you like me to have a nurse call you back tomorrow to schedule your appointment? You can take some time to process this right now, I know this is hard news to hear.”

“Uhm, yes, sure, tomorrow would be great.” she stammered out the words, almost oblivious to what she was saying.

Once she’d disconnected the call, Mel dropped her phone next to her onto the fresh carpet of grass and leaned back against the tall, strong oak tree behind her. Pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she buried her face in the safe place hidden behind her shins and shielded by the sides of her arms. She allowed the tears to begin steadily trickling down her face. They rolled off of her chin onto her lap, quickly soaking through her shirt and leaving a cold, wet spot on her stomach. Her shoulders heaved slightly. She tried her hardest to stifle any noise that risked emerging from her lips.

The cancer is back. The words echoed endlessly in her mind, empty of meaning. They weren’t relevant to her. She couldn’t have cancer again. That wasn’t possible. They’d told her there was only a 5% chance of it ever coming back, remember? So it couldn’t happen. No. It’s always the other person whose cancer comes back. The other person who’s that 5%. Never you. She was supposed to have a long and happy life. That was what she’d been promised. That’s what she deserved.

* * *

The test must have been wrong. It must have been a false positive. Or a mix-up in the lab. That must have been it. Just a little mistake. It was accidentally the wrong answer. That was the only option. There was no way it could be back. This couldn’t happen. Especially not to her.

* * *

Her phone buzzed again. Pulling it out of her pocket, she slid her finger across the screen to unlock it. 4 new voicemails from Eastmont Medical Center. As if leaving 3 the week before hadn’t been enough. Melanie clicked the little red x next to each one before shoving the phone back into her pocket.

* * *

(2 months later)

Her head pounded. The ripples had turned into waves crashing against the insides of her skull.

“Mel… Mel!” Elsie elbowed her as Melanie continued to ignore her.

She sharply lifted her head. “Hm?”

“You there?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Uhm, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just a headache,” Mel said and began staring fixatedly at the books on the table in front of her.

“Another?” Her friend leaned closer, a worried look on her face.

“Uh, yeah…”

“They’ve been getting worse, haven’t they?”

“No… I mean, sorta. Sometimes. I dunno. I’m fine.”

Her friend closed the textbook she had been holding with a loud thud. “Are you sure about that? You’re looking really pale.”

“It’s just stress, I swear. College, yay, such fun.”

“But what if it’s more than just that? Maybe you’ve ever thought of seeing the doctor?”

“Hah yeah nope. I don’t really go to doctors,” Melanie said.

“Well just maybe you should start.” Elsie’s concerned expression had turned into a look of protest.

“Hell no.”

“Listen, Mel. Something’s wrong, and it’s been that way for a while. You can keep denying it for however long as you want, but that’s not gonna make it go away.”

“Oh my god, would you stop? I’m fine, I’ll survive. I promise.”

“Yeah, bu—”

“I—I really gotta go. I have a stupid paper to finish. Bye!”

Mel grabbed her bag and tried to leave the room as quickly as possible without alarming her friend, whose eyes she could feel burning holes into the back of her head. As soon as she was out of eyesight, she dashed in the direction of the bathroom as fast as she could. As of late, that hadn’t exactly been all that fast.

She kept her head down, not making eye contact with the others in the crowded room. Wheezing and panting from the exhaustion, she pushed open the stall door and threw her body over the toilet. She braced herself with her bony arm against the side of the stall, coughing and choking as she heaved again and again.
* * *
Mel blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blurry film that seemed to be blocking her vision. Once everything had become clear, she found herself staring at a blank, white ceiling. She knew where she was, even before she turned and saw the sterile, white walls. Everything about this place was familiar. The rhythmic beeping sounds. The feeling of the papery sheets on her skin. The constant hum coming from outside her door, as doctors and nurses rushed around. The occasional faint sound of the intercom system, a reminder of all of the lives that had ended in that building today. The only thing missing was the itch from the port that had been below her right collarbone. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the memories.

She wanted to run, to flee this prison cell as fast as she could. But she didn’t even have the energy to sit up.

“What’s going on?” Melanie gripped the sides of the bed.

“Hang on a minute, the doctor will be here in a second,” a nurse in dark blue and pink scrubs responded, her back turned to the bed.

“The doctor? Why? What am I doing here?”

“Just wait, I promise he’s on his way,” the nurse said, still facing towards the other side of the small, cold room.

“No, let me go! I wanna get out of here!”

“Calm down.”

Melanie’s fingers clenched tighter, knuckles beginning to turn white.

“You’re okay now, Melanie,” the nurse turned, walking towards the bed.

“What happened?”

“You passed out today, and the ambulance had to bring you in,” said the nurse and gently took Melanie’s hand.

“Wait what? Why?” Melanie pushed the nurse’s hand away.

“Look, the doctor’s here now. He’ll explain everything.”

“Hi Melanie, I’m Doctor Gibb. How are you doing?”

“I’m alive,” Melanie replied weakly.

The doctor looked away for a moment before responding. “From your chart, it—it seems that you knew something was wrong a while ago, right?”

Melanie paused and then slowly nodded, eyes fixated on the tan-colored spot on the ceiling directly above her.

“Since you ignored it for so long, your cancer has now metastasized—it's spread to your lymph nodes and your liver."

Melanie stared blankly at him. No words would come to her mouth. The only thing she was able to do was to close her eyes, trying to block out the sound of his voice.

“You only have a few weeks left to live. We have a few options to take away your pain as much as possible, but there’s not much we can really do beyond that.”

So much for five percent.